


Away From It All

by Pandoras_Fox



Category: Daughter of the Lilies (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Bristle, F/M, Mostly Fluff, One Shot, with some angst sprinkled on for flavor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandoras_Fox/pseuds/Pandoras_Fox
Summary: Parties were never really Thistle’s cup of tea.(Just a quick Bristle one-shot)
Relationships: Brent/Thistle (Daughter of the Lilies)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	Away From It All

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this isn't my first *attempt* at fanfic, but this is the first time I've managed to finish and post something. (My tendency to turn everything into a sprawling series of epics has left me with a small collection of WIPS lol) I mostly just wanted to see if I could finish something, so enjoy a small Bristle one-shot!

Parties were never really Thistle’s cup of tea.

After a successful job involving a much larger-than-advertised brood of cave spiders, the team decided now was as good of a time as any to celebrate. After spending about an hour in the nearest town inquiring about the various local establishments and events, Lyra came back to the group holding a flyer advertising a party, celebrating the grand re-opening of a tavern called The Gilded Pheasant, complete with food, music, and ‘unlimited drinks’, as the poster quite proudly advertised. The rest of her team seemed on board with the idea, and, with a rare burst of confidence, Thistle had agreed to go as well. It wasn't until night had fallen and the group was ready to leave the Inn where they had booked rooms that she had regained enough sense to realize what a terrible choice she had made. But at that point the only thing she feared more than the party was the idea of letting her friends down by backing out last minute.

Now Thistle stood with her back up against a wall, looking out upon the (now exceedingly intoxicated) crowd of party-goers, holding a drink she had no actual intention of consuming, just so she would have something to do with her hands. She craned her neck and scanned the room, pretending she was on the lookout for a particular person, giving off the illusion that she wasn't completely dumbfounded on what to do at this party. Which she was. There were too many people around for her to enjoy the food (which sadly smelt delicious), she never particularly enjoyed alcohol, and even she could admit the music appeared to be an….afterthought on the budget. At this point, she would have just found an excuse to show herself out, but tonight she had an advantage: Thistle actually knew some of the people at this party. Her eyes scanned the room, spotting each of her three companions, who had all disbursed to their own areas of interest. 

Thistle spotted Lyra, who had gathered a small crowd around the bar she was sitting at. Her arms moved wildly, illustrating some heroic tale she was sharing with whoever was listening, and the multiple empty glasses surrounding her telling that she had clearly taken advantage of the ‘unlimited drinks’ policy in place for the night. Thistle considered joining her-

_Unneeded, unwanted, you’d only be a burden, clingy, boring, awkward, she’s doing fine without you, you would only ruin her night-_

Thistle saw Orrig, who was sitting in one of the booths situated in one of the tavern's corners. He sat in the dim candle light with a small plate of food, and silently watched over the crowd. (Or maybe he was sleeping? She could never tell.) Maybe she could-

_Inconsiderate, rude, he already spends enough of his time dealing with you, you’d have to order food as well, it’s not safe to eat around all these people, it’s not safe at all, wHY ARE YOU-_

Brent stood with a group of men surrounding a dart board, who, judging by their general builds and demeanor, appeared to be in a similar business to Thistle’s companions and herself. While Thistle couldn't exactly get a great view, even she could tell he wasn’t having much luck with the game. A game of darts might give her a chance to-

_Outcast, embarrassing, out of place, you’d stick out like a sore thumb with them, you’d embarrass yourself trying to play, he won’t protect you, it’s not safe around them, hypocrite, like you're one to judge based on appearances-_

Thistle sighed, sinking further up against the wall. They all knew how to handle themselves at a party, and she wasn’t about to ruin their nights just because she didn’t. She had chosen to come to this party after all. Thistle briefly considered conversing with another one of the people attending, but quickly banished the thought from her mind. The idea of initiating a conversation with a complete stranger already made her feel uneasy, and it was highly unlikely that anyone would go out of their way to talk to her. For better or for worse, she had long since perfected the art of being invisible. Despite this, she still began to feel the all-familiar sensation of multiple sets of unseen eyes boring into her. She shifted on her feet and gripped her arm with her free hand. Gods, how long had she been standing here? Even with her self-inflicted invisibility, it would only be so long before someone noticed how out of place she was. Thistle forced herself to leave the comfort of the wall and move through the crowd, avoiding eye contact. Luckily for her, this wasn't the first time Thistle was stuck in a situation like this, and she had a foolproof plan.

Granted, the plan was to hide in the bathroom until she came up with a better plan, but it was a plan no the less.

Thistle ducked into a hall near the back of the main room, which seemed to be the bathroom's direction. Maybe she could fake a stomach ailment? It would give her an excuse to leave ahead of everyone else. But no, at least one of her companions would accompany her to make sure she got back to the inn alright, and at that point the rest of them would leave as well, and then they would all have to to leave the party early, and she _would ruin all of their nights and it would be all your fault and why do they even put up with you all you're is a burden to them and-_

Thistle reached a door that was at the end of the hall. She put her hand on the door’s handle, making a mental note of how...out of the way..this bathroom seemed as she gave the handle a twist. At it only when Thistle found herself looking into a darkened supply closet and, very obviously _not_ a bathroom, did that factor make sense to her.

_Incompetent_ _, trespasser, can’t even find the bathroom one your own-_

Thistle resolved to just close the door and turn around, hoping that no one had noticed her mistake, when something caught her eye. At the back of the supply closet stood a ladder, built into the wall and leading upward through a hole in the closet’s ceiling. She took a cautious step into the closet, gazing up the ladder. At the top of the darkened shaft, she could see soft, white light filtering through the edges of what appeared to be a trapdoor. 

A trapdoor that did not appear to have a lock. 

The sounds of the party echoed down the hallway, only adding to the growing feeling that she shouldn't be back here. _“I should head back.”_ , Thistle thought to herself. _“I might get in trouble for being back here, and the last thing I want is for everyone to get thrown out because I was being nosy-”_

The loud CRASH of shattering glass, a set of loud cheers, and the angry shouting of the barkeeper sounded from the main room.

_“...Or I could go up the ladder. The ladder seems fine.”_

Thistle ascended up the ladder, with the now increased commotion of the party fading as she climbed. However, as she got closer to the top, the familiar feel of dread began to fill her stomach. She had expected the ladder to lead up to the tavern's second floor, but she would guess she had already passed it at this point. She placed her hand on the trapdoor and pushed it open, half-expecting to be greeted by a harsh scolding by a member of the staff for going where she wasn't welcome. But instead of angry shouts, Thistle was instead greeted by a cool night breeze. She scanned the perimeter of the scene, realizing that the passage had led up to the flat roof of the tavern, a few scattered tools and crates telling of the last few repairs and refurbishments made before the establishments reopening. A small padlock had been left atop one of the crates.

_“Huh, whoever was up her last must have forgotten to lock the door behind them.”_

Thistle picked a spot in the middle of the roof and sat down, breathing in the night air. The muffled sounds of the party and the city drifted up from below, adding to the serenity of the scene. Thistle let out a sigh of relief. A few years ago, she had picked up on the fact that she had better hearing than most, and while it had saved her skin on more than a few occasions, it made large crowds like this one all the more difficult to handle. She sank down at the reminder on all the more ways she didn’t fit in. How much longer could she stay here? She had been travelling with this group, with this name, for a few months already. There would only be more situations like this, and she doubted there would be a convenient rooftop escape every time. She had the money, at least enough to last her for awhile. She had tried to plan excuses, scenarios, where she would be able to slip away unnoticed and forgotten, and fade into a new namesake. But as many parts of her knew she had to move on, just as many willed for her to stay, just for a little bit longer.

_Stupid, sentimental, it will be only be harder to leave the longer you stay, you’re just leading them on, fake, impostor, just a convenient replacement, its only so long before they piece it together, figure out what you really are, and then what? They have self-defense AND money to justify their actions this time, it’s not like they care, they fake their concern and their smiles out of pity and necessity, how long until they turn on you?_

_…._

_…._

_…._

_Why are you still here? What reason do you have to stay?_

“Thistle?”

Breaking out of the echo’s cycle, Thistle looked over to see Brent, who was poking his head through the trapdoor.

“What are you doing here?”

“I noticed you were gone and got…” Brent’s face flushed red. “I-I didn't follow you, I just saw the door was open and-”

Thistle cut him off. “It's ok! I believe you.”

“You mind if I sit up here with you? Parties aren't my thing either.”

“Oh! Uhhh, sure.”

Brent pulled himself through the trapdoor, gently shutting it behind him. He sat next to Thistle, leaving a comfortable amount of distance between them. Silence returned to the rooftop, albeit a bit more awkward than before. Brent was the first to speak.

“It's a nice night, huh?”

Thistle looked up toward the sky, and then out across the town. A sea of lights, made up of twinkling stars floating in a dark blue ocean and flicking candles warmly illuminating shops and homes stretched out before them. The music and voices from down below mixed with the wind and reached her ears in faded echos, turning into a strangely calming melody.

“Yea, it is.”

Thistle turned away from the calming scene and back towards Brent. “Sorry for leaving everyone back at the party.”

“It's ok. But you know you can talk to us whenever. We're here for you.”

“Really?”

Thistle regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, the feeling only doubling as she saw concern and some vague confusion creeping across Brent’s face. Why had she SAID that? At best, it made her look like a ditz, and at worse, completely ungrateful. 

Brent spoke up again.”Um, yea. Why wouldn't we be?”

Thistle stammered, trying her best to play damage control to her mistakes. “Sorry, sorry! Sorry, it's just that..” Her mind raced, attempting to come up with some sort of excuse. “It caught me off guard a bit. It just feels like we barely know anything about each other sometimes.”

Brent gave an awkward laugh. “Heh, yea…” 

…

…

…

“...so what's your favorite color?”

Thistle was...caught off guard, to say the last, at the sudden question. She looked over to Brent, who seemed nearly as dumbfounded by the question as she was. She raised an eyebrow, quizzically, and responded. 

‘Sorry?”

Brent began to stammer, his face flushing red with embarrassment. “W-well, it's just that you- well, I- we don’t really know that much about each other, so I thought-well maybe…” He began to stand up, as if he was trying to run from the situation he had just created. “It was a dumb question, I should just head back to the party-”

“No,wait-” At the sound of her voice, Brent and Thistle both stopped. She knew questions like this could be dangerous, as there was always the risk of letting a detail, a story, a truth she wished to hide, slip from her lips and send her running for her life yet again. But when she looked up into Brent’s eyes, as much as she knew it was a mistake she had repeated over and over again, she felt as if she could trust him with this small detail. What could come of knowing a color?

“It's ok. My favorite color's blue, actually.” Thistle paused for a moment. ‘What’s yours?”

Taking it as an invitation, Brent sat back down beside Thistle. “It's kind of hard to pick, but yellow’s pretty neat.”

Not wanting the conversation to fade back into an uncomfortable silence, Thistle asked the next question. “Ok, now my turn. What’s your favorite food?”

“Well, I do really like beef stew. You know what's funny? Whenever we went out and I got a chance to order it, Lyra would always get on my back saying how I had to stop ‘eating like a pig’ or something like that, but then she would turn right around and order the exact same thing! Whenever I would call her out on it, she would just give an excuse about portion control, or how she’s ordering a salad to go with it.”

Thistle let out a laugh. Not a polite chuckle or an awkward laugh to help break the tension, but a real laugh. She actually caught herself by surprise. When was the last time she had laughed? She looked over to Brent, who was giving an almost triumphant smile, and quickly recomposed herself. 

“Well, I’m not really sure if it’s my favorite food per say, but I do really like making pies! Just the process of seeing it all come together is just so...satisfying. Sauteed mushrooms are also _amazing_! A lot of people think you have to cook them a certain way, but just toss them together with some butter and garlic and-

_Too much, too close, too far-_

Thistle cut herself off, quickly changing the subject away from her. “But enough about that. What's the….what's the best meal you've ever had?”

Brent thought for a moment. “It’s hard to pick, but there was this one time….Me, Lyra, and Orrig were traveling with this caravan…………

……………………………………………

And they went on like that through the night. A question leading into a story which would lead into another question, each of them learning so little, yet so much at the same time. As the night went on, guests began to filter out of the party, but Thistle and Brent stayed on the roof, stuck together in the moment.

‘Wait, so this is the third time this place has reopened?”

“Yea! I heard some other guys talking about it while we were playing darts. Apparently the entire reason they’re offering free drinks tonight is because half the town is convinced this place is cursed or something.”

“You'd think that-” Thistle perked up, realizing that the familiar clamor of the party had faded, and that many of the illuminated windows around the town had gone dark.

“Gods, how long have we been up here?”

“I think it's been….an hour? Maybe 2? We can head back down if you want.”

“No no, it's fine! I think it was your turn to ask a question anyway.”

Brent thought for a moment. ‘Ok, how about….when you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Thistle didn't know how to answer. What could she say? It was safe to say she didn't have a normal childhood, she curled in the fingers on her right hand, for more reasons than one. Future career plans had never been the biggest concern for her until a few years prior. She was about to just go with the predictable answer and say wizard, hoping he brushed over her answer, but then a memory stuck out to her.

“When I was a kid, I would read all these books about the magical, far-off places. I would dream about getting to visit them all someday, becoming an….... _adventurer_ of sorts. Heh, I guess mercenary is about as close as I’ll ever get to that. I know its kind of dumb-”

“It’s not dumb. It’s actually kind of funny, I want to do the same thing as a kid. Becoming a mercenary. I’d get to travel the world, find lost treasure, and I could throw a decent punch, which helped.”

Thistle gave an invisible smile behind her hood. “You know, it’s funny. I was never really interested in fighting monsters or becoming a hero, just the idea of traveling. I guess I just wanted to…..”

“Get away from it all?”

“Yea…”

Thistle looked into Brent's eyes, the light from below illuminating his face in a soft, warm glow, and the stars twinkling in eyes. She moved her fingers, brushing them up against his hand. Their fingers locked together. Had they always been sitting this close together? Had he moved closer to her? Her closer to him? And had it suddenly gotten warmer up here?

They spoke no more words, just stared into eachothers eyes, the streetlamps below and the stars above drifting into a kaleidoscope of light. The world drifted away; their worries, the responsibilities, the ghosts that still echoed around them were pushed back into the farthest corners of their minds. They closed their eyes and began to drift closer together, inch by inch, the distance between them closing. It was just them, alone together, on this calm, beautiful, _extraordinary_ night.

Her hand slid out of Brent's hand and up his arm. His face was close enough to hers that she could feel his breath up against her cheek Thistle cracked open her eyes to see Brent’s hand moving toward the side of her face.

Thistle’s eyes shot open at the same time as Brent’s and they both leapt back. Thistle frantically readjusted her hood, tugging along the edges of the fabric, while Brent avoided eye contact, rubbing the back of his head with his left hand.

“Sorry,I-!” they both said at the same time, then stumbling back into silence, both at a loss for words. A million thoughts ran through Thistles mind. Why had she pulled back? Why hasn't she pulled back sooner? And Brent. Had he...did he...why had he- It was all too much to process, and the once gentle sea surrounding them felt as if it was trying it’s hardest to drown her.

_Stupid, irrational, why did you do that, just putting yourself in danger, he would never accept you, have you learned nothing?!_

As with tradition, Brent broke the silence, stumbling over his words. “So, the part sounds like it’s about over. We should head back downstairs. Since the party’s over. And Orrig and Lyra are probably looking for us, since...the party’s over.”

“Um, yea.” Thistle replied. ‘‘Lets head back.”

They both descended down the ladder, Thistle locking the trap door behind her.

…………………………………….

Thistle and Brent walked in silence out from the supply closet and back into the main room, which was in nearly as rough a shape as the few guests drinking and dozing off in the tavern's corners. Tables were littered with food and glasses, chairs laid toppled on the floor, and Thistle carefully stepped over what she hoped was a split drink. Orrig stood at the bar, handing some coin over to the taverns over, who stanched it up with a huff and stormed off towards the tavern’s backroom. 

Brent spoke first to Orrig. “What was that all about? I thought all the food and drinks were free.”

“They vere. Paying for vwindow.” Orrig said, gesturing to the large, now very broken window at the front of the tavern. The now familiar cool night breeze drifted in, gently rustling a few napkins left scattered on the tables and floor.

“Time to head back. Vu two, grab Lyra.” Orrig began to head for the front door, grumbling something about getting too old for this. Thistle looked over to see Lyra, who had moved to the other end of the bar, surrounded by an even larger amount of empty glasses than before, and sleeping face-down on the bar counter. They both walked over to her, Thistle giving the snoring women a gentle tap on the shoulder. 

‘Um, Lyra? You ok?”

Lyra awoke with a snort, looking bleary eyed at Thistle and Brent.

“Zuh..wha...wha time is it?”

“It's time to head back to the inn. Do you need us to help you up or..”

“Wha? Nah, I can walk myself back. Just need to..put on..my...feet.”

Lyra got off the bar stool, took one step, and immediately fell face first toward the ground, Brent catching her before she hit the floor. Thistle looked toward Brent for support, not entirely sure what to do in this situation. Brent looked back and shrugged. 

“You get right, I get left?”

………………………………………... 

A cool breeze drifted through the town and down the cobblestone streets and past brick buildings, illuminated by streetlights and stars. Orrig led the way back to the inn, with Brent and Thistle ,each holding the arm of a very drunk Lyra, behind him. Thistle tried her best to keep pace with Brent’s long strides, Brent slowing down whenever she lagged too far behind. Thistle did feel bad that Brent was bearing most of Lyra’s weight, but then again she would be the one dulling her hangover in the morning, so she supposed it evened out.

Lyra tried her best to fill the silence of the walk with conversation. “I..I mean, wasn't even my ******* fault that window broke. I swear up and down that son of ***** was cheatin at cards, dumb barkeep was a half-blind…...You know what? You two are the best. You're my best buds, carrryin my when I can’t find my..feet.”

There was a moment of quiet, and Lyra looked back and forth between them. “Ya know, you're both good.” She let out a small snicker. “You two have fun tonight?”

Brent and Thistle looked into each others eyes, just for a moment, and then turned away, blushing. From the corner of her eye, Thistle could see a faint smile on Brent’s lips, and, as much she knew she shouldn't, she couldn't stop herself from smiling too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
